CHAPTER XVIII.

_THE NEXT MORNING._


Perplexities and distressed feelings notwithstanding, Bessie Fairfax
awoke at an early hour perfectly rested and refreshed. In the east the
sun was rising in glory. A soft, bluish haze hung about the woods, a
thick dew whitened the grass. She rose to look out of the window.

"It is going to be a lovely day," she said, and coiled herself in a
cushioned chair to watch the dawn advancing.

All the world was hushed and silent yet. Slowly the light spread over
the gardens, over the meadows and cornfields, chasing away the shadows
and revealing the hues of shrub and flower. A reach of the river stole
into view, and the red roof of an old mill on its banks. Then there was
a musical, monotonous, reiterated call not far off which roused the
cattle, and brought them wending leisurely towards the milking-shed. The
crowing of cocks near and more remote, the chirping of little birds
under the eaves, began and increased. A laborer, then another, on their
way to work, passed within sight along a field-path leading to the mill;
a troop of reapers came by the same road. Then there was the pleasant
sound of sharpening a scythe, and Bessie saw a gardener on the lawn
stoop to his task.

She returned to her pillow, and slept again until she was awakened by